Heart of the Matter

Ok, so you've seen a million of these things before, but, well, isn't it nice? You might be interested to know that this is Vanessa Arbuthnott fabric; the heart is made from swatches I sent off for when trying to choose curtain fabric. Her fabrics are rustic and wholesome - I love them. In the end of course I baulked at the prices and went for my good old fabric favourite, the Fabric Warehouse in Uxbridge, which is one of those dribblingly good places full to the rafters with enormous rolls of material. My mother nearly became pinned under said rolls several times when we were pulling them out to have a look. Luckily I'm a pack-horse me, and was happily lumping great cylinders of fabric about all over the place, and causing havoc in the aisles unravelling them to check repeats.

Now, am I alone in feeling slightly guilty when I use sample swatches for a homemade thing? Is that a bit naughty? Perhaps if I sell this heart for, say £18.50 in a boutique in Marylebone High Street, that would be a little out of order, and so I shall promise to pay Vanessa fifty pee or something, in commission. No, hang on. I think I had to pay for the samples...

I take it back. I'll keep the fifty pee, thank you very much.

I made the heart as a prototype, with the vague idea of making ten of them as Christmas presents for Isla's preschool teachers. Two-year old Hetty sat next to me at the sewing machine playing with quilting safety pins (yes, I know - but she was right there; if she'd stabbed herself I was right on hand to administer first-aid. Stop fussing. I wasn't letting her play with scissors. Or pins. Although I did yesterday. How else am I going to get these things done? They don't want something safe to play with do they?). However, after an entire morning spent doing it, it became apparent that making ten was not exactly feasible, so this one sits prettily atop the mirror over the fireplace in the living-room.

It reeked of lavender, clary sage and peppermint essential oils, which I stupidly drenched the stuffing in before putting it in the heart, so that I got it all over my hands and gave myself a fragrance overdose. Then I had to sew up the heart and put the ribbon on, and so Hetty and I sat in a fug of stink for far longer than is, I am certain, advisable, although I don't have an aromatherapy qualification. We must have smelled like a Camden Market joss-stick stall going to collect Isla from preschool.

The preschool teachers all got a tin of chocolate eclairs each instead, in case you were wondering. Not remotely home-made, but probably a good deal tastier.